


It's the Love of the Chase (That Created the Ride)

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Partners, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Riding, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry are new Auror partners. It's a bit dull. Until they finally see some spell action and things get a lot more interesting (in Draco's pants).</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Love of the Chase (That Created the Ride)

**Author's Note:**

> Grace! I couldn't fit in the partially-clothed desk sex, so I'll write you an adrenaline-filled smutty sequel, okay? (I seriously have it in my head already.) I hope you like what I've done with your awesome prompt. <3 Thank you to my two brilliant betas, firethesound and sdkshelly (And I must thank the latter for the 'Nice shoes' line. ;-) )! The title comes from the Shinedown song, "Adrenaline".

"Bored."

"Deal with it."

"Bored. Beyond. Belief." Draco stretched his arm out along the back of the park bench, tempted to melt all the way down to the pavement where hopefully it would swallow him up.

Potter rolled his eyes and stretched his legs out.

"Careful, you'll trip a Muggle." Draco watched one walk by, oblivious to the two wizards sitting there just one extra leg stretch away.

Potter turned his head and stared at Draco's profile. Draco resolutely did not look at him in return. "And this is something you care deeply about, is it?" 

A muscle in Draco's cheek twitched. A couple wheeled by on a pair of bicycles. Potter retracted his leg and grunted. "Do the softening charm on the bench again, would you?"

"You do it," Draco spat. "It's only…" He checked his watch. "Merlin, two more hours." He drummed his thumb on the bench, careful to keep it from touching the collar of Potter's coat. "They're not showing up."

"They will."

"Potter, they're not showing up. They know Schultz was tailing them last time. They'll wait at least another week and they won't do a brush pass, I'm telling you. We're wasting our time."

"You mean the Ministry's wasting our time. Don't you?"

"Don't tell me you're not sick of scut work. You're the Chosen One. Nobody would _choose_ to get stuck on surveillance for two months."

"We're not stuck on it; we're completing our probationary period, Malfoy. There's a difference. Every Auror does two months of surveillance at the end of their probation."

Draco dropped his head back, his eyelids drooping. "Bored. Beyond. Belief. Potter."

"Shall I start a duel for you? I think that bloke there looks like he could use a good _Aguamenti_ to the face."

"You'll cock up the Disillusionment charm," Draco said. Though he rather hoped Potter would oblige anyway. Draco struggled a bit not to smile at the thought. 

Six months they'd been assigned together, and though Draco still thought Potter was an annoying prick and Potter thought Draco was an insufferable bastard (Potter's words, in more than one shouting match), things between them as Auror partners had been… Well, they'd been… 

They'd not been horrible.

The work had been horrible, but at least Draco hadn't been partnered with one of those daft Hufflepuffs who thought just because they'd accidentally stunned one Acromantula during the Battle of Hogwarts they must be destined for Auror robes. 

At least he hadn't been partnered with a Ravenclaw who couldn't stop talking wand theory or the statistics of spell damage within the department.

Or worse, Ron Weasley.

No, Potter had been… competent. Draco was both loath and relieved to admit that his prowess in dealing with the Dark Lord extended to almost everything else he did, too. Except Potions, at which he still stank. Thank Salazar or Draco would be forced to hate him more than he already did, and then they'd never have been able to be partners.

It was just that hating Harry Potter had come to feel a bit different lately. It felt more like… frustration. Yes, that was the word. Because Potter was frustrating. All the time. He never had his boots shined; he wore his Auror robes open around the office like a coat rather than a uniform (and his shirts were rarely pressed beneath); he acted like this probationary period was tolerable; and he always smelled of pumpkin pie.

And he was really, really good at spellwork. Draco rather liked that, even though it was also annoying. It was rather nice thinking he might keep his own skin in a fight – with Potter at his back. 

If they ever _got_ in a fight, that is. Surveilling an alleged illegal Portkey creation ring would not likely ever break out in Confringos. 

Draco sighed and checked his watch again.

"It's only been five minutes since you checked it last time."

Draco turned his head on the bench and sniffed. He sniffed again.

"What are you doing?" Potter frowned.

_Cinnamon, nutmeg… Oh, Merlin, the unholy melding of ginger and cream…_

"Bloody hell, Malfoy."

Draco sighed and sat back. He tapped his foot against the pavement.

"Stop that."

"Make me."

Potter actually touched his hand to his wand. Draco's lips twitched, and he was about to make a remark about quick-draws and staying power when both their wand tips glowed and the Minister's voice rang out between them.

"All probationary Aurors, return to the Ministry and assemble in the Atrium. Now."

Draco looked at Potter. Potter's eyes sparkled. Draco's heart had begun beating hard at his sternum like it wanted out. 

"Let's go," he said, and in the next instant Potter took down the Disillusionment and Draco removed the other wards. Then, without a word, Potter grabbed him hard by the arm and with a crack they were gone.

The Floo at Cragfoot and Bellum's had been the nearest that was linked with the Ministry. In moments they were striding through the Atrium toward the fountain.

Draco elbowed Potter in the side, frowning. "Fix that."

For once, Potter didn't snipe back and merely buttoned his Auror robes the correct way, and just in time.

"Aurors Potter and Malfoy, Patil and Goldstein, Weasley and Parkinson."

They stood in a loose semi-circle around Auror Waters and listened as he divided them up, sending the other four with Robards to coordinate the evacuation of the injured and ordering Potter and Draco to come with him to the spell-point.

They followed him at a brisk walk back toward the Floos. "We'll exit near Riverfront. Have your wands drawn. We're going in Nimbus formation. Potter, you're on point. Malfoy's got the corners. Hard stuns. I want this clean. Clear your targets then sound off, you got it?"

"Yes, sir," they both answered.

Draco cut his gaze to Potter's and caught his eye briefly. 

"Stay quiet and watch for victims. You see one, stick this to them." Waters turned in front of the Floo and handed them each five small pins, leftovers from England's match against Greece. "Touch the Quaffle on it twice quickly, and it'll send them to St Mungo's."

They pocketed the Portkeys, Waters nodded to them, and then he was gone through the Floo. Potter went next, shooting Draco a look before he swirled away. 

Draco stepped out of the Floo and into a dark, abandoned building.

"This way," Waters whispered.

They left through a door already hanging from one hinge and made their way a block down toward the river to a warehouse with grimy windows and exposed steelwork.

Waters gave hand signals they'd learned their first month as trainees. It didn't matter. Three more steps and the windows on the first floor exploded out with a deafening bang followed by the almost musical shower of glass.

Then it was all shouting, running, bursting through the doors. " _Stupefy! Stupefy!_ " Three wordless hexes fired off to his left. Smoke. Thick smoke rolling over him. Three wizards in black robes scurrying to the back and Draco giving chase. Spells flying back at him, and suddenly there was a _Protego_ around him that he hadn't cast, and then Potter: " _Expelliarmus! Stupefy!_ "

One of the wizards turned with a well-aimed _Crucio_ , and Draco met the curse with defense magic, threw it off. " _Silencio!_ _Incarcerous!_ " The wizard fell to the dust, quiet and bound.

"Malfoy, your right!"

" _Stupefy!_ "

Potter rolling and standing and giving chase to the two out the back while Draco battled the witch coming at him from the shadows.

All in all it was probably five minutes. It felt like seconds. But when it was over, Draco was out of breath, coughing. He'd pinned two Stunned civilians, taken down three suspects.

He met Potter out back where he'd Incarceroused five together.

Draco coughed through a laugh. "What is this, a craft project?"

Potter smirked at him.

Waters bore down on them. He was frowning, but there was that light in his eye. "Potter, Malfoy, take the perimeter. Check for Disapparation signatures, trace magic, artefacts, anything. You've got an hour. Report back to Head Auror Robard's office, eleven hundred." Belatedly, he gave a nod. "No severe casualties. Looks like one hundred per cent containment. Good work."

In the next moment, he Disapparated with Potter's ball of suspects.

They were both breathing hard. Potter squinted around the rubble and then turned a crooked smile on Draco. "Still bored?"

Draco felt it come up in him from the pit of his stomach – from his bloody feet. Energy prickled along his skin. He smelled ginger through the soot, and before he knew it, he'd grabbed Potter's robes, the material balled in his fists, and he slammed him back into the wall of the building.

Potter's wand was out before the sound echoed over the river. The point dug into Draco's throat.

"Yeah?" Draco breathed. "Go on, Potter. I dare you."

Potter frowned at him. His gaze dropped and took in Draco's lips, parted and moist from licking them. Draco's cock ached against Potter's thigh. In the next instant, Potter threw his wand aside and kissed Draco so roughly his teeth sank into Draco's bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

Draco tore at Potter's robes. Potter tore at his, breathing hard into his mouth. Draco plunged his tongue in – once, twice… The buttons stuck, and Draco growled into the kiss, the tunic ripping in his hands. Potter, unfazed, wrapped his hand around the back of Draco's neck, nails scratching against his scalp, his answering kiss brutal, angry, wet and perfect. Draco slammed him back, rattling the metal siding of the building, and rocked his hips against Potter's body.

Potter pulled out of the kiss and spun them, shoving Draco's back against the wall -- _BANG!_ Potter met his gaze for an instant, and the heat there – the identical fire – caught Draco's breath. It was the moment Potter needed to rip Draco's shirt open, the fine material rending in his hands. Then his mouth dropped and sucked at Draco's neck, his ridiculous hair tickling Draco's ear, and _Potter_ was thrusting _his_ hips, his hard cock rubbing against Draco's thigh. Draco shifted, their erections lined up, and they both groaned. They made metal crash into metal with every movement, a deep reverberating boom that made sense inside Draco's body. It was the very sound of the blood hitting the walls of his arteries. 

Draco gave in to it. He grabbed Potter's arse, and squeezed hard. And if Draco wasn't mistaken, Potter smiled against his skin and rode him harder in response. Draco was too transfixed by the feel of Potter's arse in his hands to realise that Potter had just unfastened his trousers. But then Potter's hand was in there, fishing around, his teeth skimming over muscle, a throbbing vein, all while he drew Draco's cock out and—

Draco growled, pulled Potter's wild hair, and spun them, getting Potter's back against the wall once more. He kissed him, hands pinning Potter to the steel, tongue hard, teeth colliding. Potter broke the kiss, tearing away. He knocked Draco's hands off his body. For a moment – a cruel and terrible moment – Draco thought he was ending it. That the Boy Who Lived could just walk away now in a way that Draco suspected he could not. The fear shot up into his throat, tightening it.

But then Potter smiled, crooked and deadly mischievous, and he slid to the ground on his knees, making Draco take a step back to make room for him. He looked up at Draco, laughed at Draco's shocked face, and then wrapped first his warm hand and then his lips around Draco's cock and started sucking it.

Draco tried to make a word, but he didn't know which word, and he failed. His eyes closed of their own accord, and his mouth opened on the force of his exhale. He grabbed for a steel beam and Potter's head at the same time, as Potter started moving, forward and back. His mouth, so warm and wet, worked constantly – tightening and releasing such that Draco knew he had seconds before he came, not minutes, to memorise just exactly how this felt – the great Harry Potter, the Saviour, his partner, giving him dirty head behind a building at a crime scene.

He hadn't planned on it, but Draco threaded his fingers through Potter's hair while he bobbed there. His fingers tightened. He stared down at _that_ mouth working his cock, _those_ cheeks hollowing – Potter's throat swallowing, Potter's face flushed, Potter's eyes drifting open and closed.

The way he changed the fit of his mouth, angling his head…

The sounds he kept making, wholly unabashed…

The telling movements of his own forearm, the hand that Draco couldn't see between Potter's legs…

Harry Potter on his knees in the rubble…

And then his eyes -- those bright, clever eyes – blinking and staring up at Draco suddenly. Potter licked, quick and calculated, under the crown, his hand a blur on the shaft.

Draco gave a shout and came. He pounded his fist against the steel, bucked his hips, felt it fill Potter's mouth, felt him swallow, yet watched it run over his lips and down his chin as well.

"Holy fuck," Draco gasped, saying a permanent farewell to his dignity. No one could withstand after this, he reasoned. But he didn't need to stroke his hand over Potter's head; it just happened. His hair just didn't feel as stupid as it sometimes looked. Potter hummed when he did it. He hummed, and Draco's cock twitched hard within his mouth. Their gazes met again and then—

Suddenly the air around him was cold once more. The sounds of the city filtered back into Draco's ears. Potter pulled off and licked his lips, then wiped his shiny chin with the back of his sleeve.

The moment when they broke eye contact was the moment Draco could breathe again. He stepped back and put his tingling prick away. The air smelled of smoke and rubbish. No more ginger or nutmeg. Nothing like that.

Draco straightened his robes as Potter stood and did the same.

Draco said nothing as Potter found his wand and then Banished his own spunk from the ground where he had, quite evidently, pleasured himself while he sucked Draco off. Once Potter had his wand stowed, Draco cleared his throat. 

"So, we start here; I'll take the perimeter to the right, you the left, we meet in front?" He cut his gaze to the side and found Potter nodding, still a bit out of breath.

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Draco ran a hand over his hair, suddenly paranoid about its state. They'd done a lot of tussling after all. Though, to his recollection, Potter hadn't touched _his_ hair.

"Right," Draco said, pulling on his robes one last time so that they snapped smartly.

"Right," Potter echoed.

"Patronus if you find anything noteworthy."

There was a definite smirk in Potter's voice when he answered, "I think giving a good shout ought to do, don't you, Malfoy?"

"Fine. Yes." _Such as when I came in your mouth and down your face?_ Heat built up Draco's neck.

"Good. See you round front then." Potter pulled his wand and began searching the perimeter in one direction while Draco belatedly went off in the other on legs that could barely hold him up.

~ ~ ~

Horrifyingly, there was a trip to the pub for all the probational Aurors once everyone had checked back in at the Ministry. Draco had hoped to beg off, but Pansy – damn her to the ninth circle of Muggle Hell – had his arm in a vice when she Disapparated and it was Side-Along or Splinch.

They popped into an alley beside the Hog's Head, and it just so happened that Weasley and Potter cracked into being just as Pansy purred, "I just love slumming it. Don’t you, Draco?"

Draco caught Potter's hard look and the clench to his jaw before Pansy pulled him toward the front with her.

"Bugger of a night!" Goldstein laughed as they filed into the pub. It stank of spilled beer and unwashed wizard. The cigar smoke, thankfully, overwhelmed both, though, once they took a circular booth near the back.

Robards and Waters bought a round, and Robards stood to toast the night's success. "To the bloody most aggravating, insolent, _ugly_ " (everyone laughed) "and talented group of probies to come through since Merlin. Thanks for saving lives tonight."

He drank and everyone called "Hear, hear" and joined him. Robards sat and immediately became embroiled in a heated discussion with Waters and Goldstein. 

Draco sipped his Muffliato Mescal and was grateful for the warm slide of it into his stomach. It immediately eased the irksome knot there with Harry Potter's name on it.

Speaking of. Draco glanced up and saw him across the table chatting with Weasley. Parvati Patil laughed at something Weasley said as he gestured with his beer so that it spilled over the side. Potter smiled and then lifted his gaze and found Draco staring. The smile changed, dissipated. His throat moved as he swallowed. He blinked at Draco and then took a sip of his Firewhisky. Draco could still feel those lips on his neck, parted and hot.

Pansy leaned forward, breaking Draco's line of sight suddenly. "Oh, bollocks, you did not!"

"I did so!" Weasley looked around the table, animatedly declaring, "I had only one pin left, you see. Robards had taken the lot, and I found two calling up from the cellar. So, I took it, pinned them both together, and sent them off." He smiled hugely and took a swallow of his pint.

"You didn't even need the pins by then; Auror Robards had already opened a new Apparition point! One of them must have Disapparated," Pansy argued.

"Oi! Are you my partner or not? You're supposed to have my back!"

Pansy fell back into the booth, waving her hand at Weasley in dismissal.

Draco glanced at Potter again. He was staring at the table with a mild smile on his face. He swirled his whiskey gently around in the glass. Draco remembered the slam of his back against the building. In the next moment, Potter raised his gaze and they looked at each other.

"Draco," Pansy barked. "How many did you and Potter bag again? Three thousand, was it?"

Draco watched Potter smirk and look away. Draco cleared his throat. "Eight," he corrected.

"Oh yeah?" Goldstein broke in. "How many for each of you?"

"What difference does that make?" Pansy challenged.

"Oh, it'd make a difference if you thought Harry caught less!"

"Unicorn shit." Pansy shook her head and threw back her rum.

"No, he's right," Draco said. "Potter caught five." 

Potter just blinked and shrugged. "Helps when they all just line up for you. Malfoy's actually ran." He met Draco's gaze again, and something strange passed between them. Something as secret as the sex, as warm as the mescal.

"Oh, get a room if you're just going to verbally wank each other off, why don't you!" Goldstein laughed. Everyone else joined in. It was easy to laugh at something so patently ridiculous.

Draco's body had gone cold, though. He looked anywhere but Potter's face. Instead of sipping his drink, he downed it. Then he nudged Waters. "Need out," he said. He flashed too warm then and felt like he might just be ill.

Waters and Robards stood to allow him out of the booth as the conversation turned yet again, and Patil and Goldstein argued about something having nothing to do with him and Potter. 

"I'm buying. Anyone want another?" Draco looked around the table as everyone but Potter assented readily. But Potter just shook his head slightly, meeting his gaze only briefly, whiskey glass still half-full. Draco swallowed, dropped his gaze, and made for the bar like it was the exit.

~ ~ ~

_Three Months Later_

Pansy _Leviosa_ 'd the last of Draco's china into the kitchen and sighed. "I don't know why you chose such a small flat when you have so much shit, Draco."

"I've told you." Draco swished his wand and rearranged the glasses in the cabinet yet again so that the casual stem-ware was in front. "I've had a lifetime of hearing my shoes echo on marble. I'm in the mood for something quaint."

She set her hands on her hips and looked around, her nose wrinkled. "Is that what you call this?"

_I call it mine._

"Summon those utensils, would you?" Draco started opening the drawers.

"Why didn't you have Potter help you with this?"

Draco's breath stopped, and he refused to look at her as he sorted his forks and spoons. "Why Potter?"

"Well, I despise manual labour, and he grew up doing it, didn't he?"

"This is not manual labour, Pans. Besides, growing up doing something doesn't mean you like it. And why would he come unpack my flat anyway?"

Pansy flopped down on a kitchen chair dramatically. "He's your partner. I thought you were almost friends now."

Draco scoffed. He moved the forks to the right side of the drawer and the spoons to the left. "We're most certainly _not_ friends." He turned to her and frowned. "And what are you on about? You're not friends with Weasley and he's _your_ partner."

She shrugged. "Actually, he and Granger treated me to curry last week. It was tolerable."

Draco rolled his eyes and flicked the drawer shut. "Which, the curry or the company?"

"You still want to shag the shit out of him, don't you?"

Draco felt her question in his knees, in his gut. It took everything he possessed not to sputter. Instead, he firmed his jaw. "Sod off, you slag."

She laughed. "Oh, Draco, I can read you like a book." 

She fiddled with the tablecloth – his mother's lace tablecloth. Draco stalked over and slapped her hand and then walked away again. 

"Brute," she accused. "Good luck with that, by the way. My guess is Potter's too much of a saint with a hero complex to ever get on his knees for you."

"There is so much wrong with that sentence you're lucky I don't hex you straight home." Draco felt the flush creep up his neck and was grateful for the cut of his collar. He made to dust non-existent crumbs off the countertop, half wishing he'd unpacked his Pensieve already so he could prove to her exactly what kind of saint Potter really was – and that he knelt beautifully. 

Merlin, so beautifully. 

And how unabashedly he'd sucked Draco's cock… the fervent heat of him… those eyes looking up, his own hand flying between his legs…

Not that Pansy wasn't sort of right. After all, it was never going to happen again. Which might explain the number of times Draco had rewatched that night. Or it might explain that he was a masochist. 

Draco wasn't exactly keen on finding an explanation, actually. 

"I'd say you were pissed, but we haven't even stocked the drinks cabinet yet," he said, turning and giving her a cutting smile.

"And we're not going to either. Not with our new assignments going out tomorrow. I have to get home." She yawned hugely and stretched.

Draco threw a napkin at her. "Look at you. You're practically ready to be inducted into the Weasley Burrow with those manners. Get out of here. You need your beauty sleep."

She shot him two fingers and then took a lazy walk to his Floo. "Goodnight, darling." His hearth lit green and whisked her away.

Then he was left with a small, empty flat unsuitable for a Malfoy and, for that reason, perfection. 

Nothing between him and his big bed. 

His memories. 

His three months of frustration.

~ ~ ~

Three days after they'd been assigned – bloody AGAIN – to surveil the blasted illegal Portkey ring, he and Potter got the call that there was a dark wizard on an out-of-control Knight Bus demanding the release of certain prisoners of Azkaban or he'd drive it off a bridge.

The brooms were Potter's idea and a bloody good one at that.

They'd located the bus and were in hot pursuit. Potter flew ahead of him, darting down this lane after it, down that street, zipping through an alley to try to cut them off and leaving Draco to his reflexes, anticipating Potter's next move. They careened down packed London streets, between cars, narrowly avoiding lane changes, Disillusionment charms making them invisible to the Muggles driving to work. The wind slapped at Draco's face. He hugged his knees to his broom and raced up closer behind Potter's.

"We can't catch it," Potter's _Sonorus_ 'd voice came back to him. "I'm going to Apparate onto it."

"You're going to what?" Draco tried to pull his broom next to Potter's but the git swerved right and cut him off. "Potter, you're mad. You'll Splinch your prick off."

_And we can't have that._

"I can do it."

Draco rolled his eyes at that note coming into Potter's voice. Bloody Gryffindor Saviour idiot. Draco plastered himself to his broom and shot forward until they were side by side. Potter spared him an annoyed glance. The Knight Bus squeezed between two cabs ahead of them, and they flew in tight formation to follow.

"If you're Apparating, I'm going Side-Along, arsehole."

Potter firmed his lips but then nodded. "Have it your way." There was no time for second-guessing as he grabbed Draco's arm and with a crack they were gone.

They landed inside the bus as it sped around a tight corner, and Draco didn't even have a moment to appreciate how fucking good Potter was; they dropped their brooms and palmed their wands, turning with their backs to each other to cover both ends of the bus.

"If you _Stupefy_ me, the bus _Reducto_ s," a gleeful voice came from the front, and Draco whirled to aim his wand alongside Potter's. He steadfastly ignored the whimpers from a nearby elderly witch in the bed to his right and the frightened stares of the other passengers. "And if you _Silencio_ me," the perpetrator went on, "you'll never find out how to take these spells off." He tsked at them when Potter raised his wand higher, aiming for his throat. The wizard had his wand trained on the driver as he swerved through traffic, sweating profusely.

There was a moment's pause. Draco's thoughts were flying around in his brain, one after the other – not _Stupefy_ , not _Silencio_ , what did that leave them? – when Potter cast, " _Silencio! Incarcerous!_ "

A gasp went up from the passengers.

The man went down, mute, and Draco turned to Potter, his own eyes wide. "What the fuck did you just do?"

"I'll keep a wand on him. Go on. You've got more experience with curse-breaking and spell-removal than I do."

When Draco just stared at his profile, Potter turned his head and looked at him like this was all a foregone conclusion. "Do it, Malfoy." Then, "I trust you."

Draco belatedly shut his mouth, and as the bus continued to barrel forward out of control, he turned, aimed his wand, cast _Revelio_ , and then _felt_. 

Nothing. No charmed objects then. 

He modified the spell to uncover magic itself and got a glimmer. Not in the engine or the wheels where he'd been expecting. Draco gazed at the ceiling. "It's up there, Potter."

"Er, hello?" came a squeak from the driver.

"What is it, Ernie?" Potter asked.

"Could you hurry like? I've lost steering and…" He pointed a trembling finger at the street up ahead, dead-ending just before the river.

Potter broke for the stairs, and Draco was on his heels. They bounded up to the second floor of the bus and Potter whirled on him. "Where?"

"It's all over. It's…" 

"Where, Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. "Just up."

"Up?"

"Yeah. I think it's around the bus, not on it."

" _Finite Incantatum!_ " 

"Potter, he's not a third year."

"It was worth a try. You do something, then!"

"All right." Draco closed his eyes, a list of spells tallying up in his mind with lightning speed, one discarded after another.

"Malfoy, make it fast!" Potter warned, a true hint of fear in his voice.

Not that one, not that one, not that one…

"Malfooooy!"

Suddenly, it came to him. " _Desino Consto!_ "

Immediately, the bus lost speed. "Merlin!" Ernie cried from below, and the bus took a sharp right turn at the last moment, tires squealing. Potter stumbled to the side, and Draco grabbed for a pole and his arm at the same time, keeping his partner from slamming into the side of the bus.

Potter fell against him, his body radiating heat. Draco swallowed. They looked at each other for a moment. 

Pumpkin bloody pie.

"Stay here," Draco said. 

"What?" Potter asked, out of breath.

"Just stay put, Potter." Draco made sure he had his feet under him and then trotted down the stairs again. "Ernie, keep driving."

"What? But the brakes are working now. I can stop any time."

"I know. Keep driving. We need twenty more minutes. No matter what, don't stop or come up, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." Ernie manoeuvred around a Muggle double-decker and wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve.

Draco turned to the quiet criminal on the floor of the bus. He aimed his wand. " _Stupefy_ , you bastard." Then, once he'd slumped into unconsciousness, Draco turned on his heel and strode purposefully back up the stairs.

His blood felt like fire. His whole body thrummed with it. 

"Why haven't we stopped?" Potter asked. 

Draco bore down on him. He cast a privacy spell.

"Did you tell Ernie he could?" 

"You Apparated. Onto a moving Knight Bus."

Potter blinked at him.

"Nobody does that, Potter." _Nobody_ can _do that._

Draco walked in close, and Potter's eyes widened.

Draco grabbed him, kissed him, and shoved him back against the windows of the bus.

"Mmmphh," Potter grunted into his mouth. Draco tasted surprise on his tongue and sighed. Fuck, it had been so long. His hands sifted up and cupped Potter's jaw for just a moment – his strong, stubbly, perfect jaw, thumbs over his soft cheeks -- then Draco dropped his hands and started working fast to get his own trousers undone.

He got his belt open, yanked at the button, pulled down the zip. His erection strained against his pants, hot and huge. Merlin, he'd never been so hard.

Potter tasted like the salt of his sweat, like adrenaline. Like pure power. Draco changed the fit of their mouths, his hands going to Potter's flies. He yanked – and yanked again. But they were stuck.

"Bloody hell, Potter," he growled against his panting mouth. Draco drew his wand once more, flicked it, and stripped Potter bare.

Potter's gasp when he did it was the most arousing sound Draco had ever heard.

Draco holstered his wand, then took Potter's arms and wrapped them around his own neck. "I know you know how to slick yourself." He grabbed Potter's leg and hiked it around his hip.

"Fuck…" Potter breathed, taking his cue and leveraging himself, lifting his other leg to go around Draco's waist as Draco pinned him to the window hard with his body. Potter murmured the charm, and Draco aimed his cock. He found what he wanted, wet as hell, and pushed. He grunted as his dick slid inside and Potter's nails dug into his neck.

Perfection… how they fit together. He saw it, too, in Potter's dilated eyes.

Draco started fucking him in short, brutal thrusts, every muscle in his legs straining, his arms working where he held Potter under the thighs. Potter grabbed for the brass pole over his head, his other arm wrapping more securely around Draco's shoulders. His arsehole fit so tight around Draco's cock, but all Draco saw in his eyes was heat, a lust so potent it resembled anger. And as Draco fucked him, Potter held his gaze. Even as he gasped, he didn't look away. As he panted, his breath juddering from Draco pounding into him, his eyes were as steady and bright as stars.

The bus rattled and swayed, and Draco fucked Potter good and hard, neither of them looking away. The orgasm built; it was coming up fast. And it hurt to look into those eyes. It was impossible, seeing Potter like this, even as Draco was about to come inside him. He struck fast, kissing Potter's lips open again under his own. It was half-kiss, half-panting against one another's mouths. Potter tightened his legs around Draco's body and began writhing in tight undulations against him. Draco heard himself keen then. He fucked fast, losing control.

But it was Potter who came between their bodies. On a desperate sound, his come splashed Draco's stomach and his own, and he rode Draco's cock hard, his body rippling, making obscene noises on the glass at his back. He hadn't yet emptied completely when Draco dropped his head back and came on a guttural groan. He thrust in one, two, three more times, and then his arms gave out. He let Potter slip down, Draco's cock bobbing out of his arse but still shooting against Potter's leg.

To Draco's surprise, Potter took him in his hand and gave his twitching cock a few calculated tugs, a drugged-looking smile quirking at his lips, his eyes sparkling with sated confidence. Draco came the last bit into Potter's milking fist. "Fuck you," he sighed, and Potter – the bastard – gave a breath of a laugh. He thumbed gently over the head, making Draco inhale sharply.

They looked at each other again, Potter's gaze unnervingly earnest. Draco felt as though he was the one being penetrated.

Dear Salazar, he'd just fucked Harry Potter.

Potter's gaze shifted over Draco's face, taking in everything about him.

Draco gulped.

In the next moment, Potter released his cock and wiped his hand down Draco's chest. He gave him a playful shove. "Give me my clothes back, you perverted dick."

Draco huffed a relieved laugh to have that strange thing between them broken. He pulled and swished his wand, cleaning them both up, although he was careful only to cast for the surface stains; he left Potter's arse alone, and apparently that fact wasn't lost on his partner, who gave a lazy roll of his eyes and then demanded once more, "My clothes, Malfoy. I think London's seen enough of my bare arse for one day."

And how could that ever possibly be true? Draco had seen it in the showers, after all, and it was like a piece of art. Draco could hang that arse on his wall, give it good lighting, and be happy with it for years.

Draco didn't dispute him that they were on a Knight Bus and therefore as good as invisible, though; the idea of it was too delicious really. He gave a resigned flick and in an instant dressed Potter again. Which was a real shame. He'd have liked to leave him naked and make use of one of the beds in a few minutes when he was able.

Speaking of… He dropped his hands and shoved his cock back into his pants. Technically they were still on the clock, and having one off with his partner yet again after a bust was really as far from professional as one could get. It was mental. They'd nearly crashed into the Thames, and Draco's response was to get a raging erection. And then proceed to put it up Potter's well-lubed arse. On a moving Knight Bus. With people and a perp still in it.

Salazar help him.

Potter cleared his throat. "I'll take care of things downstairs. You, uh… You're fastened wrong."

Draco looked down at his trousers to find his belt tong not quite pushed through all the way. 

In an odd bout of modesty, he turned his back to fix it as Potter made for the stairs.

~ ~ ~

They had the Knight Bus drop them and their wizard- in-custody off at the Ministry. Potter took him to Processing while Draco went to their office to fill out the arrest report. Draco had thought maybe he'd make it back to the Atrium and thus back to his flat before he saw Potter again, but as luck would have it, the lift stopped and picked Potter up on the way.

Draco took a deep breath and stepped to the side, giving Potter room.

The grate closed, and they watched the floors move past one by one.

"Paperwork go okay?" Potter asked.

"Yes. No problems. I sent it all to Robards' office. You? He give you any trouble?"

"No, fine."

"Good."

Another floor went by.

Draco clasped his hands behind his back for something to do with them. A surreptitious glance sideways showed him that Potter's were in his pockets, his Auror robes, again, open down the front like a coat. Draco took slow, deep breaths. The silence rang in his ears.

"Do you bake?"

Potter turned his head slowly and looked at Draco. "No," he said slowly. "Why?"

"It's nothing."

Potter turned his attention back to the front of the lift.

One more floor to go.

"Would you perhaps… like to get a pint? With me?" Dragon dung, what was that? What the bloody _hell_ was that?

Potter's reply was just as shocking. "Yeah. Er, yeah, I'd-- Well, actually, no."

Draco's heart stopped.

"I mean… I just… I have plans tonight, actually. With friends."

"Oh."

The lift stopped.

"Would you…? You could come," Potter said as the grate opened.

"No. No, that's all right." He should really step out of the lift now. They should both step out of the lift. He could feel Potter looking at him, but Draco couldn't return the gaze. "Probably for the best. Getting a pint together… It was a horrible idea." He swallowed and could have kicked himself for adding, "Right?"

The grate began to close again, and Potter's hand shot out to hold it open. The smile in Potter's voice was obvious. "Since when has that stopped either one of us from doing _anything_?" Draco couldn't help but look at him then as Potter stepped into the Atrium. He cleared his throat, turned his head to glance at Draco one more time. "See you, Malfoy."

Draco felt strangely bereft and excited both. "See you, Potter."

The grate closed, and Draco was halfway down to Mysteries before he realised he ought to have got off.

Before he realised he didn't think he hated Harry Potter anymore at all.

~ ~ ~

Behind the rubbish bins in the alley after the bust on Streatham Street. Mutual hand jobs, because the team of other Aurors had still been on site, for Merlin's sake, and he and Potter had met them around front of the building after only six frenzied minutes. Potter's colour had been high, two stains of deep rose on his cheeks, and Draco had had to look away or snog the shit out of him in front of everyone. And have another go.

While on stakeout at that dodgy restaurant on Knockturn. Maybe Draco had looked particularly bored or something. Whatever it was, he'd caught Potter staring at him intently.

"What?"

Potter's eyes glittered. He smiled. And before Draco had known what was happening, Potter had slipped under the table, deftly opened his flies, and was giving him sloppy head.

Sloppy, humming, quick-slow, quick-slow, tonguing his slit relentlessly only to sink down until Draco's cock pushed tight into his throat and Potter swallowed and breathed hard into his pubic hair and Draco came and came and came and thanked a thousand witch goddesses for long tablecloths and Gryffindor stupidity.

And for the best bloody blow job of his life.

The high of catching the perp came in a distant second that night.

It was becoming patently ridiculous.

For bloody fuck's sake, Draco was just taking a piss in the loo of the Leaky this time. The whole team was there to congratulate Patil on apprehending three wizards the Ministry had been after for a year. It wasn't even _their_ bust. Potter had come in from home and Draco from getting their overflow of paperwork filed at the office.

He was standing at the urinal with his dick out, minding his own business, when the door opened and closed again, and Potter took the one next to him.

He unzipped and dragged his cock out and started pissing. Draco had basically finished. He shook it off and took a stupid amount of time fitting it back into his trousers.

Potter moaned and his stream slowed. He slanted a glance over at Draco, his feet of all things. "Nice shoes," he said. Then he looked at Draco's face. "Fancy a fuck?" 

Draco couldn't prevent the warm chuckle. "Muggle Prada does it for you, Potter?" He glanced at Potter's face. His flushed, eager face. Draco dropped his gaze as Potter shook off his prick. It was already half hard.

"You do it for me," Potter said.

Draco's breath caught in his chest. He frowned. Before he knew what he was doing, he hauled Potter in, kissed him, and walked him back into one of the stalls, slamming the door closed.

"Mmm," Potter hummed into the kiss. He broke away, getting Draco's cock out again. "I'd wondered."

Draco watched his lips as Potter manhandled him, stroking his cock slowly, getting him hard. "Wondered what?"

"If it was only the danger of the case with you. Or if maybe…" Potter reached over and gave the stall door a tap, letting it open a few inches. "Maybe it could also be the danger of getting caught." He stroked Draco's cock with one hand as the other slipped into the back of his trousers, his pants, and palmed his arse, caressing it experimentally. "Well? Could it, Malfoy?"

Maybe it was the soft touch of Potter's fingers _there_ … at the bottom curve of his arse… insinuating, unhurried. Or maybe it was the surety of the hand moving up and down his cock. It was most definitely that look in Potter's eyes – question, challenge, fascination. That Potter was fascinated by him…

That he could still, after all these years, hold Potter's interest.

Draco spun him around, making him gasp. He wrenched Potter's jeans and pants down around his thighs. He found the pucker of his anus, already slick, with the head of his cock.

"Well, aren't you the poster boy for Auror preparedness."

Potter huffed a laugh, braced against the wall, and then Draco was sliding inside, opening him, and their breathing inexplicably synchronised – long, ragged breaths while Draco bottomed out in him from behind.

"Fuck, that's good," Potter sighed, reaching back and gripping Draco's leg, holding him there deep.

He didn't just sigh it, though. He admitted it. It had to be an admission. They still fought for every inch with one another in the office (so to speak). They counted each argument between them as a battle won or lost, even if they both wound up trying not to smile by the end.

How could he say such a thing with ease now? That Draco's cock buried up his arse was good? How could _that_ come easy between them?

Draco dropped his head to Potter's shoulder. He took a deep breath of nutmeg and sweat. "Potter…"

"Yeah?"

"I need to fuck you."

He hadn't meant it to sound like an admission of his own. It was purely a physical fact. It was time for some friction, two bodies colliding. But it sounded horribly naked to his own ears, and Draco was glad Potter couldn't see his face.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Malfoy? Owl invitation? I told you I liked your shoes. Put out already."

Draco managed not to laugh outright, but he couldn't help the smile. He lifted his head from Potter's shoulder and grasped his hips, dragging his cock halfway out. He thrust back inside roughly. Potter's hand slipped up onto his arse, shoved itself into his pants again, and gave a squeeze. Draco fucked him, and Potter squeezed his arse while he did it, and the murmurs of "Yeah" and "Fuck" and "Like that" and "Come on" were an exchange both illicit and intimate. Potter urged him on, and Draco answered with speed, whipping his hips and beginning to tremble. 

"They could come in here anytime," Potter told him, his hand so warm and almost reassuring on Draco's pumping arse.

Draco gritted his teeth.

"They could just walk in here and see you fucking me… see you so far up my arse…"

Draco gasped, the orgasm threatening, tightening his bollocks in a way that was almost painful, yet still he wasn't quite ready to come. God, that edge. Potter could take him right to it and hold him there.

"Would you like that?" Potter asked. "Do you want them to find us? Like this? Find us fucking? Find you claiming me…Draco?"

And just like that, Potter ripped it out of him. Draco somehow growled and whined both at once as his semen spilled hot inside Potter's arse. Potter's hand squeezed hard, to the point of pain. Draco buried his face in the side of Potter's neck, licked first, then gently bit down. Potter gasped, his grip softening, smoothing over Draco's skin while the fuck slowed. Draco licked the bruise he'd made… kissed it… and Potter patted his arse like he'd done a good job.

For a moment, just a moment, Draco felt enormous, ridiculous pride suffuse him.

Heat rose in his chest. He pulled out and spun Potter around. He dropped his gaze to Potter's red, bobbing cock, left untouched. Draco shut the stall door with a resounding slam and locked it. Then he dropped to his knees and took Potter's cock in his mouth.

Potter's head fell back. "Oh God…" Draco moved his mouth up and down the length of him. He reached behind and pushed two fingers into his arse, the tissues swollen and hot to the touch, sticky with his own spunk. "Oh my God…" Potter nearly laughed before his whole body went taut and he came while Draco finger-fucked him, and Draco swallowed it, closing his eyes.

He sucked Potter's cock until it started to go soft in his mouth and Potter pushed his head away as though it might hurt. Draco sat back on his heels, panting. Potter looked down at him with blown eyes and a tired smirk. "Can't let them see that, though, can we?"

Draco rose to his feet and wrapped his hand around the back of Potter's neck. He dragged him in hard and kissed him, let him taste himself. Potter moaned. Draco whispered against his lips, "They don't get any of it."

He pulled back only to see something shuttered away in Potter's expression. "No," he said. "No, they don't."

Draco frowned.

"Come on," Potter said. "They're going to start to wonder, you know? I'll go first."

"Yeah. Right."

Draco watched Potter right his clothes as he fixed his own, the both of them silent.

"Yeah?" Potter asked, holding his arms out for inspection.

Draco cleared his throat. "You look… passable." Tight t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots? He looked like the hottest fuck in England. He looked like a god. Draco wanted to throw the plonker over his shoulder and haul him right out and have him again three times all while Apparating back to his flat.

Potter smirked at his assessment, rolling his eyes. "Glad to hear it." He went to open the stall door, and without thinking, Draco shot his hand out and gripped his wrist. "You look good after I've fucked you."

That won him something more like a real smile, real amusement. "But not before?"

Draco felt the blush reach his ears.

Luckily, Potter laughed and saved him. "Relax, Malfoy. I don't need you to tell me I'm pretty or anything. For what it's worth, you look hot after you've fucked me, too."

"'Good.' I said 'good', Potter."

Potter shrugged, his wrist warming in Draco's hand. "Whatever."

Potter did something quite strange then: he leaned in and gave Draco a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you," he said. He left the stall, washed his hands, and then walked out of the restroom entirely.

Draco could still feel the press of his lips and the slight scratch of his stubble. He touched the place with two wondering fingers.

~ ~ ~

One by one the other Aurors left to go home. What started as three people between them in the booth dwindled to zero. Draco and Potter sat next to each other for at least forty-five minutes while Goldstein got Patil way too drunk and told embarrassing stories about her training days.

Potter sat close. Too close. There was now plenty of room. But Waters was nodding off at the end of the booth, and Goldstein was toasting Patil again, and none of them was looking.

Nobody realised or cared that their thighs touched. Draco rested his arm along the back of the booth behind Potter, and Potter, a little drunk himself, leaned his head back. Draco could feel the feather-light touch of his hair through the material of his shirt. It was stuffy and oppressive in the pub, and Draco had rolled up his shirt sleeves, and he realised as Potter rested there, eyes drifting open and closed, that his Dark Mark must be showing. And if Potter leaned just so, his head would rest full against Draco's arm… just in the crook… like he belonged there.

Draco cleared his throat and reached for his water glass, taking a cooling gulp. He shifted slightly and let his hand dangle over Potter's shoulder. God, just doing that made his cock start to stiffen. It made his heart gallop.

"No more mescal for you?" Potter asked. He seemed to be watching something across the sparse room. Or nothing. Tom idly wiped down the bar. A witch laughed at a table against the far wall. Potter's thigh moved against his own, his foot coming to rest right next to Draco's under the table.

Draco took a long breath. "Last call was ten minutes ago, Potter."

Potter sighed. "Still some left in your glass."

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Do I need to?"

Draco breathed the laugh he could no longer, in his state of post-coital inebriation, contain.

But Potter's next words stopped him in his tracks.

"Want to get a room?"

Draco quit breathing. He surreptitiously glanced at their co-workers and then picked up his glass and looked at it as though it held something suddenly interesting. "Are you joking?"

"I'm knackered, you're knackered—"

"From fucking in a loo," Draco whispered, shifting a little in the booth. "Not from actual work."

"Does that make a difference?"

Draco pretended to think about that. "Are we going up there just to crash then?"

Potter's voice came to him, warm and soft. "What do you think?"

Draco looked at his drink again. He swirled it. "What, so just go get a room key right under their noses?" Something inside him lit up and felt sick all at once.

Potter took the last gulp of his whiskey and then insinuated his hand under the table. He laid it on Draco's leg, casual as fuck. He squeezed. "Relax, Malfoy. Any minute now Waters is going to suggest everyone catch a Knight Bus home. They'll assent and then sing bad Celestina Warbeck all the way home."

"You have no way of verifying that last bit."

"Mm, I'll be busy verifying something else."

Draco turned his gaze to find Potter lazily smiling. Bloody hell. He was beautiful. Or was that Draco's mescal-goggles? 

Or was it tasting Potter's prick for the first time?

Or knowing Potter sat there sore from his cock?

Draco looked around the booth again, making sure no one was paying them any attention. He snuck his hand down. Just another inch. He let his fingertips – his pinkie and ring finger – brush Potter's t-shirt, just under his collarbone. He would have thought not even Potter noticed except that Draco caught the change, the thinning of his breath.

"All right," Draco said. He nudged Potter's foot with his own, his cock filling and going half erect. He moved his fingers against the cotton of Potter's t-shirt slowly.

Potter inhaled. "All right." His hand slipped to the inseam of Draco's trousers.

Draco inhaled sharply. "Bloody well wait on that, would you?"

"Right." Potter sounded duly chastised. But happy. Merlin, he sounded _happy_. Why was _that_ , after all this time, suddenly such a thrilling thing?

Potter removed his hand, but their legs remained touching. Potter's head rested on his arm. Draco's fingers toyed with his shirt, and every so often Potter would stifle a gasp, trying not to shift so that Draco's fingers could find and play with his nipple instead.

When Waters snorted out of sleep and stood, wobbling, to announce they all catch a Knight Bus, Draco felt his skin heat with anticipation. He threw back the last of his drink.

"Potter? Malfoy? You coming?"

Potter stretched and slid out from under his arm. "I'm not too pissed to Floo."

When everyone looked his way, Draco shrugged. "I'll split a pot of tea with Tom and then walk. I live close."

He felt Potter slant him a look but ignored it.

"Fine then. We're off!" 

They all said their goodnights.

Once the group was on the curb with their wands out, Potter gave a nod toward the bathroom, and Draco took his cue. Potter made his way to the bar for a room key, and Draco ducked into the downstairs loo to take a piss. When he was finished, Potter was nowhere in sight, so Draco climbed the stairs, his heart in his throat.

He walked slowly down the deserted hall until he saw the door at the end, slightly ajar. It was dark inside. Draco schooled his breath as he made his way toward it. He pushed it open and stepped inside, shutting it behind himself.

"Over here." With a snap of Potter's fingers, a flame flared to life in one of the wall sconces. Just one. Just enough. Potter stood naked next to the bed, his hand moving unhurried along his cock.

Draco's jaw may have dropped a little bit. The golden light danced over the muscles in Potter's shoulders, caught in his messy hair, illuminated the telling shine at the head of his cock. Draco watched Potter's chest rise and fall as he breathed … as he barely wanked.

"Strip and lie down," Potter commanded softly.

Draco unknotted his tie as he walked forward. A warm smile grew on Potter's face, and his gaze dropped when Draco pulled his shirt off and began unfastening his trousers. Potter licked his lips. Draco toed off his shoes and then took down trousers and pants, stripping off his socks all in one.

Potter held out a hand. "Wait. Come here."

Draco felt the cells of his magic yearning though their wands lay dormant on the floor. Everything in him magnetised toward Potter in that instant. And it was terrifying. Wrong.

It was undeniable, and he didn't want to deny it.

Draco walked up to him, and Potter reached out and touched his jaw. He took Draco's hand and set it on his own hip. Then they were kissing, their arms wrapping strong around one another. Everywhere there was skin… Potter's warm, lit skin touching his own – hip to hip, the brush of his hairy thigh, stomachs aligning, their chests… Merlin… Draco licked slow into Potter's mouth, and Potter moaned. Draco grasped his arse in both hands, and Potter's arms wound around his neck. Their cocks nestled together, hot and fully hard.

Draco wanted to throw Potter down on the bed, pin him there, and fuck all of these stupid feelings out of himself for good.

Potter seemed to have other ideas. He pulled out of the kiss. It felt almost regretful. "Lie down, Malfoy."

Draco frowned, but he complied, moving to the centre of the bed and lying on his back, all the while knowing he was mad for doing so, mad for even being in this room. Salazar, he should just Apparate home and risk the Splinch.

Potter crawled up over him, straddling him. He smiled down at Draco in a way that felt mischievous, tired… something else. Something Draco had never seen on someone else's face and therefore could not be true. He didn't want to see it. But he couldn't look away.

Potter didn't slick himself -- they'd never cleaned up from before -- he just took Draco's cock in hand, positioned himself, and Draco watched as he sank down inch by inch, gasping once, repositioning, and then settling on Draco's lap.

He felt snug and hot, and Draco had never wished he could rim and fuck someone at the same time before. It seemed suddenly imperative that he bury his face in this man's arse as soon as possible.

He just wanted every inch of Harry Potter's body with every inch of his own.

Maybe Potter read the thoughts on his face, or maybe he just found Draco generally amusing, but Potter smiled down at him crookedly. "I'm going to make you last forever."

And then Merlin, he did. He rode Draco so slowly, without destination, just moving on him so that they both felt all of it, so that feeling it was everything. Potter braced his hands on Draco's chest and just _moved_ , rising and falling effortlessly, licking his lips to wet them, moaning when Draco pulsed his hips up to meet him.

Draco rested his arms over his head, hugging the pillow slightly, and just watched. Potter's head dropped back, his eyes closing. His thighs would tense hard every few seconds, propelling him up a few inches, only to settle himself back down. 

Draco didn't know how long it went on… was unaware of time like he was on potions. All he knew was that eventually Potter moved his hands to either side of Draco's head on the pillow. He leaned down and kissed him. All Draco knew was his own arms coming around Potter's body and pulling him down – and then how they made small movements together, how Potter's hair felt in his hands, how the orgasm ached in his thighs and lasted for minutes and how Potter mouthed the side of his neck while he came.

"Mmm," Potter hummed as they stilled, as Draco panted quietly in the dark. 

Draco became very aware of where his hands were on Potter's body, even as his softening cock slipped out. A hand on Potter's back… the other on his side where he could feel the spaces between Potter's ribs expand and contract.

"That was forever, right?" Potter laughed sleepily against him.

"Did you come?" Draco could feel Potter's half-hard cock against his stomach but no stickiness.

"Nn-nn," Potter sighed. "Too tired. Maybe later." He rolled off Draco's body, curling up on his side and Summoning a blanket with an exhausted trill of his fingers. It covered both of them.

Draco lay there staring at the ceiling for all of fifteen seconds before Potter spoke again.

"Spoon me, you arse."

Draco frowned at the shadows moving over the room. He swallowed and murmured a spell to douse the flame. The room went dark. He could only ever hope to do this in the dark. He turned over under the cover. He pressed his front to Potter's back, his arm having no choice but to wrap around him.

Potter snorted, "Ponce," and linked their fingers.

Draco fell asleep, his Mark pressed snug to Potter's chest, and dreamed of pumpkin pasties.

~ ~ ~

He couldn't say what possessed him except that perhaps three-sixteen in the morning was some time outside of time and Harry Potter's arse looked delicious. But two hours' sleep and a perfunctory _Scourgify_ out of the way, Draco rolled Potter onto his stomach, slipped down the bed under the light of the moon, and started licking his arsehole.

"Malfoy," Potter muttered into his pillow. "I knew you were good for something." He chuckled – low, sleepy, aroused.

Draco ate his arse until Potter came from it, bucking back and forth and making wonderful whimpering sounds into the bedding.

And maybe he could write this night off as one spectacularly long shag.

Maybe the fact of their sleeping wouldn't matter in the end.

Maybe he'd only remember the squeeze of Potter's arsecheeks in his hands, his tongue pushing in as deep as he could get it, and Harry Potter practically in tears while he came.

~ ~ ~

"Why do you drink Muggle?"

Draco inhaled against the morning sunlight slashing through the sheers as Potter opened them.

"Oh, don't pretend you were still sleeping. You've been awake for ages, Malfoy."

Draco squinted at Potter by the rickety little table – scones, tea, and even eggs and bacon steaming there. Draco sat and scrubbed his face. Potter was right; Draco had been listening to him move about the room and wondering when he was going to walk out the door. He'd been waiting for it, actually.

Potter, still standing, grabbed up a piece of bacon and ate it. He was half-dressed, jeans on but unbuttoned, shirt slung over his shoulder. He was exquisite, and Draco felt a roiling terror at being in the same well-lit room with him.

They shared an office, for fuck's sake. How were they to do that now? When Draco had tasted that magnificent arse. When they'd fucked as they had all over this bloody pub, practically in the booth with co-workers two feet away.

In this room.

In this mussed bed.

Because dear Merlin, it hadn't even been fucking, had it? Not with Potter looking down at him like that. Not breathing one another's names.

"So?" Potter pursued around his bite. "Why mescal?"

"Right now I'm asking myself the same question, Potter." Draco winced as the blinding light pierced through his skull like dark magic.

Potter threw a scone at him, and Draco half-dodged, half-caught it.

"You're not going to tell me?"

"Because my father would bloody hate it. Why the fuck do you care?" Draco threw the scone back it him, rather harder than he'd meant to. As hard as his words. He tossed the sheet off his naked body and stood from the bed, looking for his pants.

"Why are you shouting at me? Christ, you're a grouch in the mornings." Potter pulled his shirt on and then sipped at some tea.

"Why are you eating standing up? It's uncivilised." Draco yanked on his pants and trousers. Something burned in him, uncomfortable, inextinguishable, and he had this sinking feeling he was about to go somewhere he'd regret. He had to get out of this room.

"Come eat with me then."

Draco took a few breaths. He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it, facing away. "I can't."

A silence fell between them that felt worse than any row. Rowing would be good, Draco thought. The quiet was like something dying. He didn't want it to die, he just… He just… 

"I'll see you at the office."

Potter laughed, but he sounded wholly unamused. "You… fucking coward."

Draco turned at Potter's steely voice. Bloody hell, he still hadn't buttoned his jeans, the bastard. "What?" Draco spat. But Potter had struck true. Draco had the nearly undeniable urge to massage his Mark. It prickled with heat and guilt.

And anger. Because with Potter it was always anger.

"You heard me."

"How dare you?" Draco managed.

Potter stalked toward him, into his space. Draco stood his ground, lifting his chin.

"I dare because we're partners. Because we've saved each other's arses, and you've fucked mine, and you may be stellar at it, but I'm pretty sick of you turning into a right shit afterward, Draco."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Potter turned away from him, running and hand through his tousled hair. "Right. Of course you don't. You know what, yeah. Yeah. I'll see you at the office, Malfoy."

His own name was like a slap to the face. Draco winced. 

When he just stood there, Potter whirled on him. "Go, damn it! I'm obviously the only one really here anyway. Just…" He bent, grabbed Draco's shoes, and thrust them into Draco's chest. "Take your shit and Disapparate."

Draco blinked at him, his hands clutching his shoes, bare feet cold on the wood floor. He swallowed.

Potter drew his wand. "Malfoy, I swear to you."

The heat in his eyes seared straight through to Draco's rapidly beating heart. He dropped his own gaze to the floor and Apparated home.

~ ~ ~

He didn't hear from Potter the rest of the day or the next. Not that Draco had expected to. He wasn't sure why he kept checking his windows for that manky owl of his and listening for the chime of a fire-call.

He wasn't sure of much.

Except that he couldn't sleep. And he couldn't eat. And everything felt… sideways. Blurry.

Wrong.

The pit of his stomach felt like a cauldron, and he couldn't shake the vile headache that pounded at his temples, and Pansy was unreachable, and…

Potter was a bastard. Of that much, Draco was certain.

Maybe.

By Sunday evening, he had half-decided to quit the Ministry. Yes, he'd quit the Ministry and move to… Canada. Yes, Canada. And there he'd give flying lessons. Or make wands. Or train unicorns for reconnaissance missions.

He was ready to pack his bags.

Instead, at seven o'clock, he Owled Granger:

> Need to talk. Drinks on me. The Thirsty Thestral in two hours.
> 
> Don't bring your husband.
> 
> Or Potter.
> 
> Or anyone.
> 
> Much Appreciated,  
>  Draco Malfoy

It was a little bit mad, he had to admit. But by the time he'd come to that rather obvious (in hindsight) conclusion, his owl was just a speck on the dusty horizon.

Draco sighed. He went to change his clothes and shave.

~ ~ ~

He'd had no idea if she'd just blow him off or have more important things to do with her evening, but as Draco sipped a pint, Hermione Granger came through the door of The Thirsty Thestral at precisely three of nine, pulling her scarf from her coat and searching the room for him.

Draco waved her over, and she gave a curt little smile.

"Granger." He half-stood as she sat.

"Draco. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Great. Perfect, really. Drink?"

"Mm, dandelion wine?"

"Excellent. Already ordered it. Wasn't sure, of course." He tapped his wand on the table and took the charm off the wine glass.

"How did you…?"

"Oh. Potter." He felt the fond smile trying to occur horridly on his face and cleared his throat. "The bastard."

At Granger's odd look, he realised perhaps that was over-playing that particular hand.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Oh yes. Quite."

"It's just that… Well, you never Owl me."

"I'm sure I have at some point."

"No. You haven't." She sipped her wine and made an appreciative face. Draco _had_ chosen the vintage with care. He knew all of Potter's friends' drinks.

This wasn't exactly something of which to be proud, of course. He took a long swallow of his pint and cleared his throat again. "Well." He'd thought other words would somehow follow that one, but none came.

Granger raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. When he just sat there, she folded her hands on the table. "I assume this is about… Harry?"

"What makes you say that?" Heat flared in Draco's stomach.

"Maybe that he's one of the only things we have in common?"

"We have loads in common, Granger. We're both smarter than everyone else we went to school with, for one."

She laughed. "There is that." Rolling her eyes, she took another sip.

Then they just stared at each other for maybe a minute. It felt like a lifetime.

Granger's lips twitched. "So, this isn't about Harry."

"Well… I didn't say that. It is. To a point. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Yes, mostly."

She nodded slowly. "I see. Okay. Well, are we going to discuss him or should we make ridiculous small talk first?"

Draco took a deep breath. "How's Weasley?" is what came out of his stupid mouth.

"Draco. You work together."

"Yes. Of course. It's just…" He drank deeply.

Granger leaned forward, her face suddenly transformed by… Merlin, something revolting, like compassion. "He's told me, you know."

"Told you what?"

"That you and he are…" She seemed to be waiting for him to supply the term. 

"Yes?"

She sighed. "Shagging? Is that what you'd call it?"

"What did _he_ call it?"

Her look softened still more. Bloody hell, she practically twinkled. Draco flinched in disgust. "He's refraining from calling it anything. For now."

"Well, that's idiotic," Draco scoffed. "He must have called it _something_. What did he use, code?"

Granger shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. We know each other. He didn't have to say much."

Draco blinked at her. "I need another drink for this."

But as he stood to go to the bar and order (five more pints, just to be safe), she laid her hand over his. Slowly, he sat back down.

"What happened?"

Draco felt his façade slip under her warm fingers and steady gaze. "I don't know," he breathed. "I guess I was hoping you'd seen him."

"No, we haven't. We invited him last night for supper, but he said he had paperwork."

Draco nodded. It felt amazing and awful to be talking about Potter with her. It felt impossible that she knew. Unsafe and… liberating.

"Have you Owled him?" she asked.

"Are you mad?"

She laughed. "So, you Owled me but not him?"

"What of it?"

She shook her head. "What year is this?"

"Excuse me?"

"Because it feels like 1996. Tell me, do you meet in the greenhouses under his Invisibility Cloak? Do you hex each other first?"

"What are you on about?"

"Merlin, he's always been an absolute idiot when it comes to you."

"When it comes to most things," Draco threw in, but she stopped him, suddenly serious.

"No, Draco, he's not." She shook her head again and smiled ruefully at her wine glass. "It's only you."

He couldn't draw breath. "It is?"

She speared him with a look. "If you hurt him, I'll slaughter you."

He gulped.

"Too late, isn't it?"

He dropped his gaze to the table top.

She sighed. "Why did you call me here tonight?"

"Because I don't know where Pansy is?"

At this, she laughed. She was either going to slaughter him madly, while laughing, or he was somewhat safe for the time being. Maybe she'd just rig his broom to crash. Although, subterfuge seemed not Granger's style at all. She was the jinx-you-to-your-face type, surely.

Then she floored him. "She's at ours. Actually."

"Do you mean… for dinner?"

"We did eat, yes."

Draco blinked, his lips steadily parting further and further.

Granger sipped her wine, and if someone could sip wine mischievously, that's what she was doing.

"That bitch," he said.

Granger shrugged. "Sometimes. It's nothing Ron and I can't handle." At his speechlessness, she continued. "And Harry can handle you, too."

He snapped his mouth shut. "I'm not—"

"Oh, you're a total bitch, Draco."

He sniffed. "Well, you seem to be vying for that label yourself tonight, Granger."

She swirled her wine and started to twinkle again. "Hmm. I guess she's rubbing off on me. So to speak."

"Merlin, Granger."

She finished her drink and then laid her hand over his once more. "Draco, do you really want my advice?"

"I don't know now. Probably not."

She smiled at him. "It's really simple."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"Well, what then?"

"Just stay after the fuck, all right?" 

"Stay," he repeated. "After the fuck. That's it?"

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know – poetry, philosophy, Relationships 101 at the very least."

"Well, at least you know you're in one." She patted his hand.

"In one what?"

She rolled her eyes and stood, donning her scarf once more. "I have to go."

"What, back to your threesome?"

"Yes, actually. We do this thing, see, where we enjoy one another's company."

"I enjoy Potter's—"

"Arse. Yes. I'm sure you do. Have him for tea, Draco. He'll make you happy you did." She turned that infernally soft smile on him again. "Goodnight. Thank you for the drink."

"Yes, well…" 

"You're welcome." 

With that, she walked out of the pub, bottomless bag swinging and bushy head held high.

~ ~ ~

"Tea," Draco scoffed, throwing the door to his flat open and stalking inside. He dropped his keys on the kitchen table and absently stroked his owl's head. She hooted appreciatively.

"Tea," he muttered, wandering into the living room.

He was about to kick off his shoes and drop onto the sofa when he noticed the repetitive chime coming from the Floo.

His breath caught in his throat. All he could think was that Potter had tried to fire-call him while he'd been out with his best friend. That would be fitting, wouldn't it?

That would be… well, it would be excellent. If Potter was still awake. Depending on when he'd sent the message.

Draco nearly tripped over himself to reach the mantle and tap it with his wand.

The voice that erupted into his flat, though, wasn't Potter's. It was Head Auror Robards:

"All available Aurors to 112 Featherstone Lane immediately. Wands at the ready."

That would be about… the illegal Portkeys? Wands at the ready? That made no sense at all. And how old was this message? Draco couldn't be sure. All he knew was that Potter was likely already there.

"Bollocks." 

Draco didn't even bother to change.

~ ~ ~

It was mad. Positively mad.

That 122 Featherstone Lane was the front to a bloody dungeon and that's where countless unsuspecting witches and wizards were being sent via Portkey, made into _Imperius_ 'd slaves.

And that once Draco arrived, it was all over. Two dozen civilians had to be hospitalised. Three Aurors were down that he could see and…

Draco marched over to Waters, his arm cradled to his chest and a smear of soot along his face and neck. 

"Where is he?"

Waters turned to him. "He was the first one on the scene. Malfoy, we wouldn't have come out on the winning side of this if not for him."

"Where the bloody hell is he, Waters?"

"St Mungo's. Malfoy, it's… It's not good."

Draco turned and half-ran to the Apparition point. He didn't have clearance to leave the area. He was supposed to be helping. And he didn't care.

He cracked onto the sidewalk outside the hospital and barged through the window. He pushed past the line to see the Welcome Witch. He flashed his Auror credentials. "Harry Potter."

"Er, fourth floor, sir. But I—"

Draco didn't wait for her to finish. He stalked to the stairs and thundered up two at a time. He burst through the double doors onto the floor, looked both ways, and then headed toward Patil and Goldstein at the end of the hall, heads together. 

"Where is he?" Draco called before he'd crossed half the distance.

They looked up, shaken. "Malfoy—"

"Where is he?" God, he felt mad. The words practically hissed out of him like Parseltongue.

Patil pointed to the waiting area.

"No, damn it, what room have they got him in? Merlin!" He turned from their utter uselessness and started opening doors, one after the other, looking in, not finding Potter, and checking the next.

"Excuse me!" a Medi-Witch said. "You're not allowed—"

But by then he'd moved on to the next door.

"Draco!"

He turned at the sound of Granger's voice. He stalked toward her. "Tell me where he is."

Weasley came out of the waiting area next, frowning.

"Tell me."

Pansy poked her head out. "Oi, is that Draco finally?"

"Tell me what's happened to him!"

Why were they so STUPID? Why were they SILENT, standing there looking at each other, at him, in the stupid bloody hallway? Didn't they know? He wanted to shake the information out of one of them. He firmed his bottom lip and forced the blur from his eyes.

It was _his_ voice, the sight of his messy hair, that stopped Draco in his tracks.

"Is he here now?" 

Harry Potter, standing there, arm in a sling, looking for him.

Harry Potter. Alive. His gaze finding Draco's and Draco completely faltering, gasping, just blinking at him pushing through his idiot friends and looking at Draco like something was wrong with _him_.

Potter. Alive. 

Anger, relief, something else, nebulous, and Draco was striding toward him. Goldstein stumbled back, out of the way, as Draco grabbed Potter and hauled him into his arms, Draco's lips into Potter's hair, inhaling him, shutting his eyes, his arms tightening around him so hard. Potter's good arm came up, hesitant, and then wrapped around Draco, too, resting on the back of his neck.

Draco, breathing. Like he'd forgotten how. The lights bright against his eyelids and Potter's body hot in his arms. Draco grasped on even tighter, and then he just breathed.

"I'm all right," he heard Potter say softly. "Way to be late, Malfoy. I mean even Hermi—"

But Draco had pulled back, taken Potter's face in his hands, and kissed him.

"Mmm," Potter said, before he melted, and his lips parted, and Draco kissed him hard and deep.

"Did… you guys…?"

"Yeah, I knew."

"Since when?"

"Well, it's been a bit obvious, hasn't it?"

"I didn't know!"

"Well, yes, but you never know anything."

"Oi!"

And Draco held Potter, his kiss softening, one arm dropping around his back again, his other hand tangling in Potter's hair. He felt Potter's hand leave his neck, his finger finding and threading through the beltloop in his trousers. He tugged a little. 

Merlin, the arsehole could anchor him with a finger.

Draco pulled back enough to look at him. "You're really all right? Waters said—"

"Well, last he saw me my left arm was boneless, I was covered in blood, and I had no feet, so…" He shrugged, smiling.

"I saved the feet," Weasley said, raising a hand.

Draco let all his breath out. Belatedly, he realised he was holding Potter in his arms after having snogged him silly in a St Mungo's hallway in front of his entire unit and one Hermione Granger.

"Sorry," he muttered, loosening his embrace.

But Potter just tugged a little more on his loop. "Are _you_ okay?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

Draco cast his gaze over the others, now talking of the mission amongst themselves, paying Potter and him little mind. He looked back into Potter's eyes, and there was really no mistaking all that he saw there.

The warmth was so open and brave, so calm and steady. There seemed also to be a ready amusement at Draco's expense, though not a cruel one. Rather it appeared sort of… soft and fond.

Yes. Potter looked fond of him. Expectant but also patient. And the smile that was now spreading over his lips…

"Malfoy, you should see the way you're looking at me."

"What?"

Potter's smile grew.

Draco tried to wipe whatever the look was off his own face. He cleared his throat. "Tea," he said. "I was just thinking of asking you for tea. Sometime."

Potter's grin went crooked. "Tea. Are you serious?"

Draco frowned.

Potter's eyebrows went up. "You are serious."

Humiliation threatened to tighten his throat and turn his stomach. 

Potter must have seen it, because he hastened to say, "I'd love to have tea with you."

Draco let his breath out slowly.

"I could also use a good, hard fuck," Potter added. He tugged a bit on Draco's beltloop, pressing himself closer and smiling at Draco's lips in a way that could only be construed as meaning 'Kiss the life out of me now, you idiot.'

"Well, I think we could certainly work something out where that's concerned."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Potter, I…"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"About before. At the Leaky…"

"It's all right."

"It is?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Potter's gaze held that patient warmth again. Merlin, his eyes were so perfectly Slytherin green, it was mesmerising. "Well, Malfoy, you just cried about me being mortally wounded in front of the whole team and then snogged me. I'd say that counts for something."

"I did not cry."

Potter's finger extricated itself from his loop, and he slid his arm around Draco's waist instead. "Whatever." He started leading him over to the others.

"But I don't-- Potter, I didn't—"

"In this instance, you'd only be wise to agree with me. Besides, there were witnesses."

And by that time, they were too close to the others to continue the argument. That and Potter's arm was around his waist, and Draco was having trouble processing anything _but_ that at the moment. Draco shoved his hands into his pockets to disguise their inexplicable trembling.

Adrenaline. That would be the answer.

With Potter, that was always the answer.

"Hey, what's the word?" Potter asked of the group. He did not remove his arm from around Draco's waist.

Draco frowned studiously at the floor.

"Goldstein and I are going back," said Patil. "Ron, the Healer still thinks you might be concussed, so—"

"I'm not bloody concussed! I saved Harry's fucking feet!"

"Dear," Granger said. And that's when Draco saw that she was holding Pansy's hand. 

Draco met his friend's eyes, and she gave him a wink. "I'll go with you," Pansy said to Patil. She started to pull her hand free, but Granger pulled her back and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Be careful," she said.

Draco stared, dumb-founded, as Pansy returned Granger's kiss. She then leaned over, gave Weasley a quick snog, too, slapped him on the arm, and then walked off down the hall with Goldstein and Patil.

"We'll go, too," Potter said.

"Harry, the Healer said you don't have to stay in hospital, but he doesn't want you back in the field. It's home for you." Granger looked between them. "I'd think it best if you had someone to stay with you. You know, to keep an eye on you?"

"What, to make sure his feet stay on?" Weasley asked.

As Granger elbowed her husband, Potter let go of Draco to shove his own hands into his pockets. "Well, Malfoy's agreed to come back and make me tea. Haven't you?"

Draco looked between Weasley and Granger, feeling like he had dropped into some kind of alternate universe. "Yes," he said. He cleared his throat again. "Yes, that's right."

"Good, then." Granger smiled. "I think tea sounds like a lovely idea. Don't you, darling?"

"I think you're all concussed."

"Come on, dear. You need to get back to observation."

At that Granger smiled at Draco, then at Harry, and then led Weasley away by the elbow.

Draco and Potter stood in the hall watching until they disappeared behind the last door.

"So," Potter said.

"So."

Potter's finger wiggled back into his beltloop. "You're not wearing your Auror robes."

"I was in a hurry."

"Yeah? To save me or shag me?"

Draco's lips twitched. He turned and looked into Potter's sparkling eyes. "Maybe both."

**Author's Note:**

> If so inclined, please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/294216.html). Comments are ♥.


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